Lavender Skies

By Jackson Cordd

Sequel to Duanta Beads
Quantinum Residue: Book Two

To adjust to the changes brought on by the Bang, Shelter 17 geneticist Evan develops a retrovirus to stimulate a growth of fur that will allow him to live aboveground with Rourke, an enthralling surface dweller. Evan takes the treatment, leaves behind the only home he knows, and follows Rourke to his village, unsure of how he will fit in with the tribe.

Rourke likes the changes in Evan, but vast cultural differences and Rourke’s limited English make for difficulties when they try to forge a closer relationship. After spending more time in the village, Evan discovers some worrisome details about life on the surface. Soon he realizes the villagers are in the same precarious position as the few remaining shelter residents….

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
• Release date: Feb 6, 2013
• ISBN: 9781623803407

Book preview

Chapter One

EVAN emerged from the shelter’s airlock before the door closed and sealed with a hiss behind him. He stumbled to a stop and stared at the sky. He’d seen the daytime view many times before on the monitors from inside the shelter, but never had he known just how brightly vivid the lavender color looked to the naked eye. My naked eyes, he thought as he surveyed the scene on his first time out of the shelter in the daylight. Only a few tiny, thin pink clouds to the west stained the vista as it stretched from horizon to horizon, glowing with the hue of an amethyst gem. How incredible! To think I’ve missed all this beauty.

Evan absently scratched at his arm. The growth of fur under his fingers brought about by the retrovirus still felt strange and alien. He glanced down at the dark-blond hair covering him. He hoped the lighter color of his fur wouldn’t stand out as too much of an anomaly among the Common race. From the few Commons he had met and in the database photos he had seen, their race appeared to typically be of much darker shades of brown or black. Since he would already be facing the stigma of being a former Vaultee, he didn’t want to stand out further from the rest of the tribe.

He straightened, stuck his arm through the carrying strap of the duffel bag that held all of his personal possessions, and slung it over his shoulder like a backpack. With a deep breath, he turned his back on the shelter, the only home he had known for 142 years, and started the descent down the rocky foothills flanking the forest. The vibrant turquoise and purple colors of the jungle foliage shifted and waved in the gentle breeze, beckoning Evan forward, as if inviting him to enter. He ventured into the forest and found his way to the clearing, the secret meeting place where he and Rourke had spent many evenings together.

He wasn’t surprised to find the open area deserted, since he had left the shelter at 19:30, considerably earlier than normal.

Feeling dehydrated, he knelt down when he reached the small trickle of a stream at the edge of the clearing and used his hand to scoop up some of the water to drink. Or he tried to anyway, but soon realized a hand was not an effective drinking utensil. He should have thought to bring along a glass or cup to use for drinking. More of the water ended up spilling onto him than in his mouth. He leaned down closer to the stream and managed to scoop enough to satisfy his thirst.

Evan stood and took the time to study some of the nearby plants. It had always been dark during his previous visits, but in daylight, the purple hues of the waxy leaves on the trees surrounding him looked beautiful to his naked eyes. In the ten-thousand-year-old database photos of the pre-Bang era, plants and trees had been various shades of green. Such an idea seemed so strange to Evan as he stroked the veiny purple leaf. Who would want green plants? They must have looked so diseased and ugly.

A slight rustling sound brought his attention to the trees on his left. He turned to see Rourke step out of the foliage and freeze in his tracks.

In complete shock, Rourke stared at the man in front of him. He knew it was Evan, but only because of his short height and the blue-colored shorts covering his midriff. The shelter must not have much clothing variety, for Evan always seemed to wear blue. Rourke wasn’t surprised by the new fur; Evan had told him of his plans to change himself. What made Rourke pause was the sandy color of the preliminary growth of fur all over Evan’s visible body. The hair color was so pretty, just like the sparkling, sandy beaches bordering the ocean down south. Evan, he said with a tone of admiration.

I’ve left you speechless, Evan replied with a grin. He held out his arms and rotated in place, showing off. You like?

Yes, I like. So pretty. Just like the sand, Rourke said as he stepped forward and pulled Evan into his arms. Evan absently let his bag drop to the ground as he wrapped his arms around the taller, sepia-furred man.

Rourke leaned down and met Evan’s lips in a passionate kiss. As they shared their mouths and Rourke enjoyed the feel of Evan’s new fur under his palms, Evan traced his hand along the soft deerskin leather of Rourke’s kilt.

Evan pulled back, still rubbing the kilt. Think you could help me make one of these? These shorts are very chafing.

Rourke smirked. I not make clothes. I make buildings.

With a shake of his head, Evan corrected, I’m a builder, I’m not a clothier.

I am a builder, Rourke repeated.

"I’m works even better, but we can work on contractions later. If we’re going to be spending time together, you need to learn proper English and I need to learn that native language of yours. Evan patted him on the butt. I pick up the occasional English or Spanish word, but the foundation eludes me."

Foundation? Elude?

Yes, the starting place where your language originally evolved from, Evan explained.

Rourke shook his head, indicating that he didn’t know the answer as he pondered the new figurative use of the word foundation. English seemed to have so much subtlety to its words.

Say something for me. Say, ‘The night is very dark and pretty.’

Rourke spoke a string of syllables.

Evan heard something familiar in the words, but the origin still defied him. Evan chided himself for not looking ahead and spending some time with languages while the retrovirus progressed. Just five minutes with the archives computer and he’d have had this language nailed down, instead of feeling so frustrated over the task. He thought briefly about returning to the shelter, but it would be rather rude to leave Rourke waiting here. You said in your legend they lived in caves. I’m guessing it wasn’t local. Do you know where?

Rourke thought on it a moment. No. Legend says Carlita born in desert.

"Carlita was born in the desert, Evan corrected, mulling over the new fact. Further west?" he asked, guessing that must have been in western New Mexico or Arizona, where desert conditions and caves had been more prevalent.

Rourke shrugged.

Say something else, Evan asked. Say, ‘I’m very thirsty. Give me some water.’

Rourke repeated another string of syllables, only this time they seemed tantalizingly familiar. Desert caves, Evan thought. Further west? Then the answer struck him. Navajo! he nearly yelled.

Navajo. Rourke nodded. I have heard that word. Some people Navajo.

Of course, that all made perfect sense to Evan. He should have realized earlier that the fiercely independent pockets of Native Americans, such as the Navajo, who had maintained a less technical culture, would most likely be the first people to regroup and adapt after the Bang’s destruction.

Evan playfully swatted him in the arm. Why didn’t you say so? Then he froze. Just a week ago, the thought of touching someone would have made Evan nauseous, but here he was, casually hitting Rourke. It was almost surprising how quickly he was losing his